


Tumbled Locks and Broken Codes

by nerdytardis



Series: That One Werewolf AU [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Hurt Illya, Hurt Napoleon, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Other, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8180087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytardis/pseuds/nerdytardis
Summary: Napoleon's forgery skills come in handy, Illya gets really upset, and Gaby just wants to know what the hell is going on.  A sequel to "Now You See Right Through Me"





	

**Author's Note:**

> you could probably read this without reading the first one in the series, but things might make a little more sense if you do. either way, thank you for reading!  
> the title is from the song "the only thing worth fighting for" by lera lynn  
> this is, yet again, unbeta'd. sorry for any mistakes  
> oh yeah, and in this fic i ended up using a mix of actual russian and german (all from google translate so sorry if i screwed anything up) and the technique where you put the english translation between those pointy parentheses. just thought i'd give a heads up to anyone unfamiliar with that

Early morning light was filtering into his apartment, bathing the rooms in gold.  Napoleon softly padded down the hall, the wood floors cold against his bare feet. 

He reached the kitchen, and began looking for something to make breakfast out of, humming to himself as he contentedly moved around the familiar space. 

The coffee pot got flipped on first, as always.  Then he found some eggs and started putting together an omelet. 

Hearing movement behind him, he turned.  An easy smile spread across his face. 

Illya, wearing nothing but his boxers, yawned and rubbed his eyes.  He shuffled up behind Napoleon, and wrapped his arms around Napoleon’s waist.  The contact warmed him, since he was also missing a shirt. 

Pressing a soft kiss to Napoleon’s bare shoulder, Illya hummed sleepily. 

“Still tired?” Napoleon asked, his voice light with mischief.  He turned his head to give Illya a quick kiss on the nose.

Instead of responding, Illya just nuzzled his face into Napoleon’s neck. 

“Maybe we should try getting some more sleep from now on,” Napoleon mused, moving his omelet around with his spatula.

This, of course, had the exact effect Napoleon wanted.  “No.” Illya said gruffly, his voice still heavily accented and thick from sleep. 

Napoleon smiled.  He had discovered very quickly that Illya was _not_ a morning person, no matter what they had gotten up to that evening.  It was adorable and he took every opportunity to exploit it. 

“Coffee.” Illya mumbled into Napoleon’s back. 

He nodded and jerked his chin towards the pot already waiting on the counter.  Illya stepped away and grabbed it, pulled his mug from the shelf above.  Pouring himself a cup, he took a deep sip and relaxed against the counter. 

The sight made Napoleon’s heart flutter a little in his chest.  It had been months, but he still wasn’t totally used to seeing the man this open and vulnerable.  The fact that Illya had trusted _him,_ the least trustworthy person he knew, seemed impossible. 

Though at this point, he had seen quite a few things that seemed impossible. 

As Illya continued to enjoy his coffee, Napoleon finished making breakfast.  Then his phone rang. 

Illya, who was standing right next to it, glanced at the phone with a smirk.  It would be too suspicious for him to answer at Napoleon’s house this early, so he could leave the hassle to his friend. 

“Solo here.” Napoleon said into the receiver, while raising an unamused eyebrow at Illya, who just grinned. 

Gaby’s voice came over the line. “Napoleon.”

“Ah,” he smiled, letting his professional facade drop away, “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Waverly’s planning some kind of big meeting, so you better come in.”

“Of course.” he said, balancing the phone against his shoulder and picking up where he left off with setting the table. 

“Oh, and call Illya for me, Waverly wants everyone.” 

Napoleon glanced across the kitchen. “Sure thing,” he said with a grin, “See you then.”

“What has happened?” Illya asked as put some bread in the toaster. 

“Waverly has a meeting or something he wants everyone at.  It won’t be anything exciting, I’m sure.”

\-- -- --

By the time they got to the building, Napoleon arriving five minutes before Illya to avoid any unneeded questions, most of the agents had already gathered in the conference room.  Since UNCLE had formed, Waverly had been recruiting the best and the brightest from around the world to join their ranks. 

Napoleon took his usual seat between Illya and Gaby in the back of the room, and leaned over so he could whisper in her ear.  “What do you think this is about?”

She shrugged.  “We’ll know soon enough.”

Nodding, he glanced around for a moment to make sure no one was paying attention, “Have you seen what Johnson is wearing today?”

Gaby smiled knowingly and raised one perfect eyebrow.  “Of course,” she whispered back, “I’m pretty sure you could see that suit from space.”

Napoleon leaned back with a snicker as Waverly walked in.  The other agents quieted down as well, everyone turning to see what their commander had to say. 

“Well,” he began, clapping his hands together, “Sorry to pull you all in here like this, but it seems that we have a serious problem on our hands.”

Napoleon’s brows furrowed, and he could see Gaby’s shoulders tense slightly. 

“Some of our enemies have figured out how to perfectly impersonate our agents,” he continued, “It’s all very technical, but it would seem that we could even have a mole in our ranks as we speak.”

Everyone looked around at this, just the suggestion making them nervous. 

“Until we figure out a better method to combat this, we’re going to have everyone undergo a pretty thorough medical examination so we can have the proper data to deal with this new threat.”

Brushing aside some grumbles, Waverly continued.  “Now, I know that it doesn’t sound like fun, but it’s very necessa-”

“Absolutely not.” Everyone turned around to stare at Illya.

“Now, Mr. Kuryakin-”

“No.”

Napoleon turned in his chair, ready to give Illya a look _,_ but he was stopped dead in his tracks.  There was an intense fear hidden in Illya’s stare, and his entire body had tensed. 

“I understand that this seems like an extreme measure, but there really isn’t any other option.” Waverly continued, looking between Napoleon and Gaby for some support. 

“I won’t do it, I-” Illya stopped himself with a huff when he noticed the stares of the other agents.  He looked down towards his shoes instead and ground his teeth together tensely, trying to keep his emotions in check.  Napoleon, struck dumb by Illya’s extreme reaction, stared at the Russian for a second. 

Then the realization hit him, and he felt very, very stupid. 

Napoleon was dimly aware of Waverly clearing his throat and continuing to drone; the rest of the world had faded away as he focused in on Illya.  Resisting the urge to pull the Russian closer to him, to protect him, Napoleon just settled for lightly brushing his hand against Illya’s under the table. 

At the contact, Illya’s eyes flashed up to meet Napoleon’s gaze.  There were dark memories flickering behind those eyes, a reminder of a past that they didn’t talk about very often.  What those KGB doctors had done left scars, most of which are not visible. 

The rest of the meeting blurred by as Napoleon’s attention was split between making sure Illya didn’t lose it, and trying to come up with a speech that would get him out of this whole thing. 

“Are you alright?”

Gaby’s voice broke through his musing, and Illya’s tension, and they both turned to look at her.  Everyone else was standing up and getting ready to go back to work. 

“I’m fine,” Illya gritted out, failing to hide his opinion of the recent turn of events.  He stood up and briskly made his way out of the room. 

The other agents milling around moved out of his way, averting their gaze.  As soon as the door closed behind him, the curious whispers started.  One glance from Gaby and Napoleon silenced them. 

Napoleon started to follow him, but was stopped by Gaby’s hand on his arm. 

Looking him directly in the eyes, she said, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He tried to brush her hand away.  “It’s really complicated,” her look hardened, but after a pause, she finally let go.

Before she could change her mind, he turned and walked out.  He found Illya in the office they shared, pacing anxiously.  He looked up for a moment when Napoleon pushed the door open, but then continued. 

Unsure of what else to do, Napoleon stepped into Illya’s way and grabbed his arms.  “Stop.” 

Illya came to a reluctant standstill, practically squirming under his hands.  “Napoleon-,”

“I know.  We’re going to figure it out,” Napoleon grabbed Illya’s chin and made him meet his gaze, “It’s going to be okay.  Breath.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Illya took a deep breath.  He blindly reached out and pulled Napoleon closer, burying his face into Napoleon’s neck. 

Napoleon went willingly and wrapped his arms around Illya’s torso, murmuring reassuring things into his hair.  He wished he could believe any of it.

The truth was he had no idea what they were going to do.  If what Waverly said was true, and the whole organization was at risk, they were going to have very little sympathy for one agent’s trauma, even if he was the best. 

It didn’t help that there was no easy way to explain it without revealing the truth, and there was no telling how Waverly would react to that. 

Not for the first time, Napoleon debated just running away again; taking Illya to his old safe house in Prague, maybe meeting up with some old contacts and trying his hand at being a thief again.  At least then he could keep Illya away from all the prying eyes and curious doctors. 

But, that plan came with its own set of difficulties.  Sighing, Napoleon was suddenly very tired. 

“It’s not even-” Illya tried to articulate what he was feeling, stopping to gather his words.  His voice was small when he said, “The tests would not be the same…” he looked into Napoleon’s eyes, “Right?”

The open trust in Illya’s face made Napoleon’s heart ache.  He reached up and cupped Illya’s face, running his thumb along the Russian’s cheek.  He couldn’t lie to Illya if he tried.  “I have no idea.”

Illya nodded sadly, only making Napoleon continue on with more vehemence, “But I’ll talk to Waverly, you don’t have to go through this again.”

“I just-” Illya started again, “Even if I have to go through with this…what are they going to find?  I’ve gotten lucky with doctors over the years, what if these are the one that find something?  I’m not normal Napoleon, who knows what else is wrong with me.”

Napoleon’s other hand came up to frame Illya’s face and his voice almost shook as he spoke, “You may be different, but there is _nothing_ wrong with that,” Illya stilled under his touch, “Illya, you have literally saved my life, both with and without your abilities, you-”

The alarm Illya had rigged to warn them of anyone approaching their office went off, making them both jump.  Napoleon, unable to stop himself, pulled Illya into a quick kiss before stepping backwards to the other side of the room. 

Gaby stormed in and walked right up to Illya. 

He towered over her, but she still held everyone’s attention as she put her hands on her hips and asked, “Are you okay?”

After a visible moment of pause, he replied, “I do not like doctors.”

She sighed sadly, her stance deflating, and took his hands in hers.  “Just tell Waverly that, I’ll make him go easy on you.”

Illya smiled quietly down at her.  Her brow furrowed and she looked between him and Napoleon, frowning. 

“There’s something you guys aren’t telling me.”

Napoleon looked to Illya for guidance, who just said, “I shouldn’t have gotten so emotional in the meeting…I had a bad morning, but it is fine now.”

Gaby’s raised an eyebrow at this, and looked to Napoleon for confirmation, who shrugged.  It was a thin lie and they all knew it. 

“Okay,” She obvious saw through it, but didn’t push any further. 

She never left either, standing next to Illya, reading over his shoulder, fixing his shirt, all day.  Watching Illya relax into their easy chemistry brought a sense of stability back into Napoleon’s day. 

When Waverly tried to poke his head in, Gaby promptly locked the door with a huff. 

“I’ll deal with him later.” she said, stalking back over to her perch on Illya’s desk. 

By the time they left for the day, the Russian had visibly quieted.  As he was distracted with grabbing their coats, Napoleon pulled Gaby into a quick hug. 

“Thank god for you.” he whispered in to her dark hair. 

She looked at him, and Napoleon could see the fear behind her eyes.  “Just promise me he’s going to be okay.”

He pulled her back towards him so that she couldn’t see his face when he replied. 

“I promise.”

She seemed to believe it, but no matter how many times he repeated it to himself, he couldn’t keep a creeping fear from settling in his gut. 

As he lay in bed that night, Illya’s head resting heavily on his chest, Napoleon realized that the cold feeling still hadn’t left.  Trying to ignore it, he took comfort in the immediate closeness of Illya. 

Carefully carding his finger through the other man’s hair, making sure not to wake him, Napoleon listened to his breathing. 

The pads of his fingers came to rest on the small bumps at the base of Illya’s skull.  Furrowing his brow, he rubbed the spot a little, feeling the raised skin of the scars.  He had forgotten about these ones. 

Normally they were too small to notice, but sometimes when they kissed, his hands tangled in Illya’s hair, he could feel them.  He had frozen the first time, his lips stilling against Illya’s neck. 

“What are these?” he had asked, pulling back in time to see Illya’s eyes flash. 

“Where the needles entered my spine.”

He had gasped, the bluntness of the statement catching him by surprise.  It was rare for Illya to even mention what he went through. 

Now, here, Napoleon watched the moonlight play across Illya’s sleeping face. 

“I promise.” he whispered into the darkness, the words drifting away. 

\-- -- --

Napoleon turned the doorknob, and pulled Waverly’s office door open in one swift motion. 

Gaby stormed past him into the room.  “We need to talk.”

Looking up from some papers, Waverly looked between them for a moment, as if considering whether he could even have this conversation right now.

Finally, he gestured to the two seats on the other side of his desk.  Napoleon gracefully lowered himself into one, smoothing his suit down at the same time, while Gaby continued to stand with her arms crossed. 

“He can’t do it.” She said. 

Waverly sighed and put his papers down.  Steepling his fingers in front of him on the desk, he looked up at her.  “I figured that out.  What I want to know is,” he glanced at Napoleon, trying to gauge his reaction, “why not?”

“He has had very bad experiences with doctors in the past,” Gaby said, “He can’t handle being forced into that kind of situation again.”

A silence stretched between them as Waverly attempted to gather his words.  “I’m sorry, but the entire agency is at risk here.  We’re still new to the international scene and really can’t risk a breech like this.  I wish-”

Gaby huffed, cutting him off.  “Do you really think politics is more important?  And anyway, it’s _Illya_ we’re talking about here.  Don’t you think we might be able to tell if he was replaced with some creep we didn’t know?”

Waverly looked up at her, and for the first time since they stepped in, his face was more than just a professional mask. 

“I wouldn’t blame you for seeing me as a villain here,” he looked between Napoleon and Gaby, “This team has been our lives for a while now.  It may not always seem like it, but I do care about all of you.”

Napoleon, startled by Waverly’s uncharacteristic directness, sat up a little. 

“From the beginning, it’s been the four of us,” Waverly looked between them, “You’ve all saved me more times than I can count…But I can’t risk any special treatment here.  I am sorry.” 

Gaby visibly deflated, and finally took a seat in the other chair.  “Then what do we do?”

Waverly took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “I don’t know.”

Napoleon, who had been silent the entire time, tensely flicked a stray piece of lint off of his trousers. 

“I could forge the papers; make it look like he was checked out.”

They both turned to him. 

“It really wouldn’t be that hard.” 

Waverly frowned at him, but Gaby was already nodding.  “How long has it been since you pulled off anything this complicated?” she asked, leaning forward. 

“It has been a while.” He conceded, glancing tensely at Waverly, who still hadn’t said anything. 

“But do you think you could still pull it off?” Gaby asked, even thought she was obviously already sold on the idea. 

“I think so.” He nodded, and then started making a mental list of the materials he was going to need.

Waverly cleared his throat, grabbing the attention of both Gaby and Napoleon.  He shuffled some papers around on his desk for a moment then finally looked up and met Napoleon’s gaze. 

He nodded.  “Do it.”

Napoleon let out a breath he didn’t know he had holding. 

“I’ll get the details to you about where to be and when,” Waverly continued, as Gaby started to smile next to them, “Just tell me when you’ll be ready.”

Napoleon nodded.  “I’ll get started tonight.” He stood up, and looked to Gaby.  Her eyes flashed in his direction, telling him that she was staying a little longer.  He put a hand briefly on her shoulder to express his understanding, and turned back to Waverly. 

“Thank you.”

Waverly just regarded Napoleon tiredly.  “Someday I’m going to want an explanation for all this.”

Gaby turned around and gave Napoleon a pointed look that obviously said, _Me too_. 

With a glance between them, another pang of guilt worked its way into his chest.  “I wish I could explain, but it’s really not my story to tell.”

Ready to escape their concern, he turned towards the door without a backwards glance.  He could feel their gaze as he pulled it open and stepped into the hall. 

Letting out a breath, he started towards his own office. 

“What’s wrong?” Illya instantly asked as he walked in. 

“Nothing,” he said, sitting down in his chair, ready to start planning, “What are you doing here anyway?  I thought you were going to be in Crete for a week.” 

Illya huffed, obviously annoyed.  “Waverly grounded me.  He thinks that ‘I should catch up on some paperwork instead’” With a deep huff, really more of a growl, he shoved his pen across his desk.  “I am _fine_.” 

Napoleon silently thanked Waverly yet again; he had not been looking forward to Illya being on a solo mission this week.  “This will all blow over soon, and things will go back to normal.”

Illya glared at him from across the room, “I do not think anyone is going to forget about this any time soon.  I’m going to be stuck at this desk for months.”

With a sigh, Napoleon got up and made his way over to Illya.  Bending down so that his hands were planted on either side of Illya’s chair, he leaned in closer.  Pressing his lips to the back of Illya’s neck, loving the way he relaxed into the touch. “In a week this will all be a bad memory,” Napoleon mumbled, “Trust me.”

“Of course.”

\--

Rain peppered his windows, making the light bend in unnatural ways and the filling the room with a slight popping sound.  It would have been annoying if his mind hadn’t been so distracted to begin with.

Forgery was never his strong suit, but this was important.  He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he didn’t make this authentic enough.  Everything had to be perfect, even if it took most of the day to find a supply of the correct paper and ink.

In the small halo of light from his desk lamp, Napoleon carefully worked away, etching the logos and official images that were necessary.  The detail-intensive production was tiring his already weary mind.  Rubbing his eyes, he looked over the depressing little progress he had been able to make. 

The pressure of the situation had not left him all day, and he was sure Illya had started to notice.  In the past he probably could have hidden the nerves tightly wound up in his chest, but Illya knew him too well now.  The walls that he had built up over the years were all being efficiently broken down by the Russian. 

“What are you working on?”

Napoleon jumped a little at the sudden appearance of the exact man he had been thinking about.  He quickly rearranged the papers in front of him.  “Nothing important,” Looking over his shoulder, he watched Illya shuffle into the doorway, squinting his eyes against the light. 

“Then come back to bed.” The idea was inviting.  Napoleon glanced between the forgery on his table and Illya’s sleepy pout. 

“In a minute, I’m almost done.”

Illya yawned again, but continued to squint at him.  “If it is not important, then you can stop now,” Napoleon rolled his eyes, but Illya continued, “And if you are lying and it _is_ important, then you should tell me about it.”

Feeling torn between the guilt of lying and the importance of the secret, Napoleon was lost for a moment in indecision.  It was a rare slip for him.

Sighing, he carefully put the papers into a protective envelope and stood up. 

“Fine.”

With a smile, Illya took his hand and dragged him back into the bedroom, though Napoleon’s mind was still stuck behind that desk, worrying away about the future. 

He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, even as he climbed into bed and Illya’s arms wrapped around him.  It was all just another reminder of why this mattered so much.

\-- -- --

Even after the countless heists he had pulled, Napoleon had never done anything like this. 

He literally had a key for the building, he was a founder of the entire organization for god’s sake, yet here he was, crawling through the air vents. 

Any of his normal tricks would be detected on the security system _that he designed_ , so he had to devise what was probably the most convoluted plan of entry and exit he had ever seen. 

Firmly keeping the memory of Illya in the back of his head, Napoleon continued down the cramped space.  Eventually reaching his destination, he started working on getting the vent below him open. 

Carefully pocketing the screws that previously held it in place, he pulled open the vent.  Lightly jumping down onto the tile floor, Napoleon took in his surroundings with a quick glance. 

Everything was exactly where it was the last time he was here, going through his own gauntlet of tests and examinations. 

Afterwards, Illya had looked him over nervously, asking again and again if he was okay.  It eventually reached a point where Napoleon had to physically take Illya’s hands in his to stop him.  That uncertain, anxious look on Illya’s face, even after Napoleon had assured him he was okay, still haunted him, tugging at his heart. 

 _That’s why you’re here_ , Napoleon thought, trying to pull himself back to the moment, _do what you came here to do._

Letting out a breath, he quickly went to work. 

The lock on the filing cabinet was more complex than anything from a normal office, but he still neatly opened it without much of a hassle.  Flipping through the files, he stopped when he found the one labeled “Kuryakin, Illya N.” 

He pulled it out and opened it on the nearby table.  A younger Illya, still wearing his KGB uniform, stared up at Napoleon, startling him.  He was much shorter than the other recruits, his lanky form standing out amongst the other young Russians. 

Napoleon stared at the photo for a moment, shaken by how different Illya looked.  He was thinner, and had a mass of floppy blond hair tucked under his hat.  He was also missing the scar next to his right eye, but Napoleon tried not to think about that.

The photo wasn’t alone.  The file had a handful of other pictures; most were fairly recent, but Napoleon was drawn to the older ones, where Illya looked so young and confident.  Even though there were only a few, each spoke volumes. 

There had been a time, before Illya had been built into the muscular weapon that the KGB wanted, when he still outwardly showed his enthusiastic emotions to anyone nearby.  The fact that he had lost even a portion of that saddened Napoleon so much, he had to push the photos away.

Carefully laying out the rest of the file’s contents, Napoleon grabbed his own bag.  He removed the envelope that carried the forged papers and replaced the unfilled paperwork with his own creations. 

If everything went perfect, as Napoleon hoped it would, the doctors would see the work, in their own forged hand, that said Illya was a normal, healthy agent, and just assume that they forgot his face amid the many other UNCLE workers they had to check out in the past week. 

All the other documents went back into the file, in the exact order they had been in originally.  Napoleon reached down to put it all back into the cabinet when he was suddenly assaulted by the piercing screech of alarm bells. 

It was only through the years of training burned into this system that he didn’t freeze, even as his heart rate sky-rocketed.  He only had a few seconds and he needed to fin-

“Stop what you are doing!”

Just as the filing cabinet drawer clicked shut, three armed agents appeared behind him.  “Stand up slowly, with your hands on your head!”

It was nowhere near the first time Napoleon had heard those words, but never under circumstances like these.  He followed the directions calmly, even as the painfully loud alarm continued in the background, matching the thundering beat of his pulse. 

Hands on his head, he slowly stood up and turned around, causing the three young agents in front of him to gasp.  Even with the flashing red lights distorting his face, they all recognized the man that had helped train them. 

“Mr. Solo?”

The confused agents faltered.  The one on the end, Napoleon remembers that his name is Scott, actually begins to lower his gun, while the others just stare, dumbstruck.  

“Don’t do that, keep it steady no matter what,” he said, pointing to the gun with his chin, “Not everyone is going to be as cooperative as I am.”

The agent blinked for a moment, but then straightened his gun accordingly. 

“You have to come with us.” One of the others said.  He was obviously trying to hide his uncertainty but he hadn’t gotten very good at that yet. 

They bound his hands, and led him away, towards the lower levels of the building.  The normally familiar corridors suddenly looked so much darker in the red emergency lights. 

Napoleon eventually figured out that they were taking him to a cell in the basement, not that he would have expected much else.  He had been well aware of the consequences he would face if he got caught; it was everyone else that concerned him. 

When the door was closed behind him with a clang, he became uncomfortably aware of how small the space was.  The walls were crowding in around him, along with his progressively darker thoughts of what might happen to Illya _now_.  

He sat down heavily on the cold cot and tried to get his breathing back to normal.  The whole point of this was to make it so that that no questions would be asked, but he had managed to throw all that out the window with one small mistake. 

 _And I can’t even figure out what that mistake was_ , he thought bitterly, already internally punishing himself for something he didn’t even remember doing.  It must have been something small, something he overlooked.  _I should have been more careful_. 

For years he had been most notorious, uncatchable art thief in Europe, but of course the one time that it really matters, he messed up.

\-- -- --

In that little cell, time seemed to stop.  Napoleon had no idea whether it has been hours or minutes when the door finally opened again and another agent stepped in. 

“Mr. Waverly want to see you now.”

Napoleon stood numbly, and let the other man put a new set of restraints on his hands.  He was dimly aware of the man apologizing for it. 

Riding the elevator up to the top floors was almost as bad as the cell.  As he rushed upwards, he could feel everything that he built and been a part of, everything he was proud of, slipping through his fingers.

The hallway stretched out before him as he was led to Waverly’s office.  Dim light filtered through the windows, telling him that it was early morning.  The realization brought with it a stabbing new thought that hadn’t even occurred to him yet.  _Illya is going wake up and I’m not going to be there._  

The past few weeks had been tense and Illya was not going to react to this very well.  The absolute last thing Napoleon wanted to do was worry him, but he could already see the Russian pacing around the apartment looking for him, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

Clenching his eyes shut for a moment, Napoleon attempted to pull himself together before he had to face Waverly.  The other agent knocked at the door for a moment, then opened it to reveal a disheveled Waverly standing over his desk. 

The top few buttons on his shirt were undone, his tie was loosened, and his hair looked like he had been running his fingers through it all night.  He turned to look sadly at Napoleon, the bags under his eyes confirming that it had been a long night for Waverly too.

Yet another one of his friends, totally screwed over, because of _him_. 

“Napoleon,” Waverly said his name with the sort of weariness that his parents used to use when they were tired of dealing with him.  Luckily, Napoleon already knew that Waverly cared more than they ever did.  He wasn’t going to have to go without dinner tonight, no matter what happened. 

Shaking his head, Napoleon tried to clear away the dark memories that were trying to resurface in his already jumbled mind.  There were too many bad things happening all at once, and he was losing focus.

“Please get those things off of him.” Waverly said, waving hand at the agent.  Once the restraints were taken off, the agent left, closing the door behind him and leaving Napoleon alone with Waverly. 

“Please, take a seat.” Waverly said as he walked around his cluttered desk. 

With a glance at the chair, Napoleon sat down, trying not to think about the series of events he had set in motion from this very chair almost a week ago. 

“Now,” Waverly began, rubbing a hand across his face, “I just had to have a nice long chat with the heads of almost every major nation that backs us.  The success of this organization is very important to a lot of significant people, and they all want to know exactly why our internal alarms were going off.”

“I understand.”

“I authorized this with little to no idea as to what was going on,” Waverly shook his head, “and I now realize that was probably a mistake.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Napoleon cut in, looking up, “I’m the one at fault here.”

Waverly looked at him with a sigh.  “No matter whose fault it is, I still need to clean all this up.  And I can’t keep telling everyone that we’re ‘investigating the possibility of a break in’.  Eventually, I’m going to have to tell them some sort of truth before they hear it from their own agents.”

“It doesn’t help that it was an American, a member of this very organization, who was caught,” Waverly continued, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “You now look like a traitor to UNCLE.  The other countries could stop trusting the fragile peace we have going here.”

With a sigh, Waverly looked him right in the eyes.  “Please just tell me what this has all been about.”

Napoleon looked away, staring down at his shoes while he tried to come up with something to say that made any sense at all. 

“And please don’t try to lie to me Napoleon, I’ve put too much trust in you for that now.” Waverly’s words cut through him, but the idea of betraying Illya’s most guarded secret hurt just as bad. 

He was being pulled in every direction all at once, and in that moment Napoleon wished more than anything that he could go back to the morning before any of this happened, back to when he could happily have a lazy breakfast with the man he loves. 

“Illya-” he started, totally at a loss for words.  “He’s not-” Napoleon could feel his gut already starting to tie itself into guilty knots as he hopelessly searched for an easy explanation.  He was hollow with regret, but there was no going back from this, no easy way out.  “He’s-” 

Waverly shifted tensely in front of him. 

“He’s different.”

“What does that mean?” 

“He can…transform—change—I don’t know how to describe it, he barely explained it to me, I’ve mostly just seen it.”

After gaping at him for a moment, Waverly sat down, shocked, against his desk.  “Are you saying that Illya is...something not entirely…human?”  Each word painfully made its way out into the open as if he was scared for the answer. 

Napoleon bit his lip so hard that he tasted the coppery tang of blood.  This was a question he had been avoiding confronting for months.

“I don’t know.”

Saying it out loud felt like he was stabbing himself, but it was the truth, and Waverly deserved that at least. 

With a distracted nod Waverly tried to absorb this information.  Napoleon could see the man rethinking every moment he had spent with Illya, already forming a different opinion of him.  Napoleon shook his head and leaned towards Waverly.  “ _No_.  Wait.”

Looking incredibly confused, Waverly met his gaze. 

“He’s always been like this, knowing about it doesn’t change who he is,” The room seemed so small in those moments as Napoleon refused to let his own mistakes ruin one of the people he cared about most.  “He’s still Illya, don’t punish him for something he can’t control.”

“He can’t control it?” Waverly asked incredulously, sitting up a little.

“No, he-” Napoleon had never had to explain it before, “He can control the change, unless he’s really upset,” Illya had stressed this point to him at first, scared that Napoleon would fear him, “He just didn’t have any say in being able to do it, he was born like this and he still has no idea why.”

Waverly digested this new information slowly, as Napoleon thought about what this betrayal would mean; his sickening guilt slowly making a home in his chest. 

A new question came to Waverly as he turned to Napoleon, his brows furrowed, “What exactly does he change into?”

This one Napoleon could answer.  It was almost a relief.  Almost.  “A wolf.”

Waverly raised an eyebrow at him.  “A wolf?”

“Yeah, a really big one.”

For a moment, a silence stretched across the room.   Both of them were trying to understand and come to terms with what this conversation meant.  Napoleon had no idea what Waverly was going to do now, but there was a definite sense of _change_ in the air.   Nothing after this would be the same. 

All because of him. 

 _Every time,_ he thought bitterly. 

Standing up slowly, like the new information was weighing down on him, Waverly straightened his tie absentmindedly.  “I can see why you didn’t want to tell anyone.”

Napoleon closed his eyes as if he could just block this whole moment out.  “It wasn’t my secret to tell.  I never would have said anything if I had a choice.”

“I know,” Waverly’s hand on his shoulder startled him.  When he looked up, Napoleon only saw sympathy in the older man’s face. 

“Do you think Illya is going to be safe?” Napoleon asked, “The original papers are still in my bag, but I don’t think any of the others saw me with the file,”

“I don’t know, Napoleon.  I’ll try my best,” Waverly continued, “But you’re going to have to stay here for a while.”

Napoleon nodded.  “I underst-”

A knock made them both jump.  The agent from before sheepishly opened the door, apologizing for the intrusion, the meaning of which was instantly understood as a serious dark-suited man walked straight past him. 

“Dr. Partridge, I was not expecting you so soon,” Waverly stood up quickly and attempted to pull himself together. 

“Yes, well these are extraordinary circumstances,” The new man, Dr. Partridge, said, as he removed his hat.  He eyed Napoleon.  “This is the man then?”

“Yes,” Waverly said, “This is Napoleon Solo.” 

The newcomer raised an eyebrow at him, before turning his attention back to Waverly.  “Can we please talk in private now?”

“Of course,” Waverly flashed Napoleon a concerned look before getting the other agent to take him back to his cell.  Napoleon could feel the palpable tension in the room as the two men waited for him to be handcuffed again and taken away. 

He knew that as soon as that door closed behind him, the only topic of discussion was going to be his fate.  But the only future he was concerned with was Illya’s, which had now been jeopardized by him. 

Somewhere in the back of his head, Napoleon heard his parents’ voices:

“If you keep up with behavior like this, you won’t even have any more friends to disappoint.”

“Now, clean yourself up Napoleon, we have dinner guests tonight, and you can’t be seen looking like this.  And stop crying, it’s pathetic.” 

\-- -- --

As close as Napoleon could figure, it had been two days since his meeting with Waverly. 

He was guessing of course, based on the changing of the guards and number of meals he had been given, since there was no window or clock that he could see from his cell.  Luckily they kept him well fed, and even provided a clean set of simple clothes, not that any of it really made him feel better. 

Lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling, he counted the ceiling tiles again.  The number still hadn’t changed. 

After what must have been a few hours of restless pacing, Napoleon finally recognized that it was out of his hands at this point.  There was nothing he could do from inside this room, and worrying himself sick wasn’t going to help anything. 

Napoleon groaned.  He sat up tiredly and pulled a hand through his hair.  He could never sleep in places like this. 

At one point, when the lack of sleep had started to give him crazy ideas, he had briefly entertained the idea of breaking out.  He quickly disregarded it, already knowing that it would only make things worse. 

A sudden noise from the hallway made him jump slightly.  He looked up, ready to see a new guard, hopefully carrying his next meal. 

Instead, he was stunned to see Gaby rushing towards him. 

“What the hell happened?” She asked before she even reached the door.  Grabbing the bars that separated them, she looked him over, as if to make sure he was still all in one piece.  “Are you okay?”

Napoleon leapt up and reached the door in a few short strides.  “I’m fine,” he was now face to face with her, a few inches and a steel door between them.  “What’s going on?”

“Illya’s okay,” she answered his unasked question without hesitation, “He’s on his way.” Napoleon let out a breath that he had been holding for days.  “Waverly wouldn’t let anyone see you until now.”

“Are they pressing charges?”

Gaby sighed tensely, “I don’t know.  No one knows what’s going on, and Waverly’s barely said two words to anyone since the initial briefing.”

“What did he say?” Napoleon asked anxiously, his brow furrowed. 

Gaby lowered her voice, careful to not give any other sign of a change in their conversation in case anyone was watching them.  “No mention of Illya or what you were trying to do.  He just explained that you were caught breaking into the lab.”

Letting out another breath, Napoleon closed his eyes for a moment.  For now at least, his screw-up wasn’t directly hurting Illya or anyone else.  The knowledge left him feeling lighter than he had in days.  “What photo did they use?” he asked, unable to resist. 

She glared at him.  “It was incredibly unflattering picture of you being surrounded by our own agents.”

Napoleon shook his head, unable to keep a small smile from crossing his face.  Compared to his last few days, this was unbelievable.  “I am so glad to see you, I’ve been going crazy in here.”

“I know,” she put one of her hands over his, “This shouldn’t have happened.”

“Of course this shouldn’t have happened,” Napoleon said, “I should have gotten in and out, like everyone was counting on me too.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, Gaby replied, “The sensor you tripped was brand new, only just installed in that lab because of the tests.” She pointed a finger from her free hand at him, “There’s nothing you could have done, so don’t beat yourself up over this.  We don’t have time for that; we have to focus on getting you out of here.”

Napoleon started to respond, his self-deprecating comment already on the tip of his tongue when there was a crash from behind them.  They both turned. 

The door leading into the holding cells had been violently opened; Illya was already half-way across the room before either of them registered it. 

Soon he was at Gaby’s side.  He gazed at the bars between them angrily, as if he could melt them solely with the intensity of his gaze.  When he finally gathered his words, his eyes moved upwards to meet Napoleon’s. 

“What have you done this time Cowboy?”

Napoleon let out a breath, feeling everything inside him settle for a few brief, holy moments.  Illya was still safe, running around and being mad at him.

“It seems I’ve made a big mistake, Peril.”

“As always.” Illya huffed.  Unable to keep up the angry mask he had entered with, Illya’s face softened.  He looked down at the bars again, where Gaby’s hand still rested on Napoleon’s. 

When his gaze returned to Napoleon, it was concern and, to Napoleon’s shock, fear, that now played across his face. 

“I know you did this for me,” he started, waving a hand to stop Napoleon’s attempted interruption, “Though I do not know what you were trying to accomplish, I do know that you are now in danger.”

Both Gaby and Napoleon stared up at him, as Illya very slowly let himself place a hand on the bars separating him from the one person he wanted to be near. 

“I will not abandon you.” he said, meeting Napoleon’s gaze with a fiery intensity. 

“I know.” Napoleon said, his free hand moving unconsciously closer to Illya’s. 

“Illya, I may not be able to tell you what happens next for me, but-” Suddenly incredibly aware of Gabby’s gaze, Napoleon looked away, ducking his head.  He hoped that Illya already understood how much he meant to him; the things he wanted to say had to wait until they could be alone. 

But, who knows when that would be?  Napoleon realized, as his long-festering guilt rose up in him like sour bile, that he may never get another chance to be alone with Illya; he may never get to say those rare words again. 

Napoleon had only just started to figure out what it meant to express his feelings, now he may never get a chance to do it again. 

The idea made him sick, as he looked back up and saw in Illya’s eyes that he hadn’t realized this yet; he didn’t know the extent to which this would tear them apart.  Already there was a door, a terrible piece of cold metal, which separated them. 

Yet, Illya was on the outside, free to continue his life without the stifling control and scrutinizing gaze of others. 

Napoleon thought that maybe he could live with what had happened, with the terrible rift it caused in his life, as long as Illya was still safe and free. 

Looking between them, Gaby squeezed Napoleon’s hand softly, placing her other hand on Illya’s arm.  “We can find a way to fix this.”

Illya turned to her sadly.  “I do not know about this time, Сестричка.”

“No, we always figure it out.” She looked between them again, and Napoleon could see the determination in her voice was just barely masking her fear. 

“It’s okay,” Napoleon said, trying to give her a more reassuring look, “Whatever happens, I’ll be fine.”

She turned to him, but was unable to respond as a knock echoed through the room.  They all turned.  Napoleon half-expected to see Waverly; he was the only person who still hadn’t shown up.  Instead, he was greeted by the sight of the man he had briefly met on the night of the heist, his hand still poised above the wall where he had knocked. 

Illya took a small step away from Napoleon, an old habit that wasn’t going to die anytime soon, and Napoleon became even more aware of the space separating them. 

“That was enough time I assume?” the man asked, looking at the three of them expectantly. 

Gaby furrowed her brow, as Napoleon continued to stare unhelpfully from his cell.  “What are you talking about?” She asked. 

“No matter,” the man, Napoleon now remembered his name was Dr. Partridge, continued as if Gaby hadn’t even spoken, “It’s time.”

“Time for what?” Gaby began to walk towards Partridge, leaving Napoleon to strain against the bars so that he could see the entire hall.  Other men had now walked in too, falling into position behind Dr. Partridge. 

Instead of answering Gaby, the man turned his gaze to Illya. 

Napoleon’s stomach dropped.

Seeming to sense what was happening, Illya tensed, his hands becoming fists at his side.  The mass of men started to step away from their leader, brushing past Gaby, who stood bewildered in the middle of the room. 

Illya took a step backwards, then another, as he tried to put some distance between the approaching men and himself.  Finally realizing what was happening, Gaby’s entire stance changed.  She grabbed the nearest thug and tried to push him back. 

“Leave him alone.” She said through gritted teeth, grabbing another person and trying to pull them back.  Each shoved her off.  She responded in-kind. 

The first punch landed squarely on the jaw of the nearest man, throwing him off balance and into some of the others nearby. 

The man on her other side soon went down with a swift kick to the shin, grunting in pain. 

Gaby turned and started to force her way to Illya, using the confusion she had created to shove another few thugs to the ground.

“Gaby!  Behind yo-” Napoleon shouted helplessly from behind the bars, as another man came up behind her and grabbed her arms.  She kicked and swung her arms violently, yelling in German as she was dragged into the cell next to Napoleon’s and out of his sight. 

“You can’t do this!” She yelled, banging on the bars with her fists. 

“Actually I can,” Dr. Partridge said, gesturing for the men to pick themselves up and finish what they started, “This comes from the very top of your own organization.”

All the heat left Napoleon’s body. 

Even with a cement wall separating him, he heard Gaby’s gasp off to his side, and he struggled to keep himself upright. 

The group of people approaching Illya seemed to take this momentary shock as a good moment to make their move. 

A man leapt at Illya, and Napoleon was forced to helplessly watch as the other joined in.  They were military trained, he could recognize it in their movements, and soon swarmed around the Russian who was fighting back with everything he had. 

It was over too quickly, as a man managed to get behind Illya and trap him in a strangle hold.  Illya tried to throw him, but there were too many others. 

Napoleon wished he could look away. 

His knuckles were white from gripping the bars so tightly.  He distantly heard someone yelling, only to realize it was his own voice, already starting to become ragged. 

“No!” he shouted, straining painfully against the metal as one of the men bound Illya’s hands.  Another threw a rope over his middle, trapping his arms at his sides. 

Illya struggled against all of it, even shouting in Russian until they forced a gag into his mouth. 

The mass of men started carrying Illya away, even as he trashed against the restraints.  For one brief, terrible second, he was able to make eye contact with Napoleon across the room and everything seemed to come to a screaming halt. 

Pain, fear, and an undeniable love shone through Illya’s eyes.  It struck Napoleon to his core.  It was also the last thing he saw of the man he only ever wanted to protect as he was being pulled out of the room towards an unknown danger. 

Napoleon knew, even now, that that look would haunt him every single time he closed his eyes. 

Numb with shock, having everything that he thought was safe pulled away so suddenly and violently, Napoleon didn’t even register that a guard had entered the room until she was a few inches from Napoleon’s cell. 

“Now that it’s been a few minutes, I’m allowed to let you out.”

Napoleon’s head whipped up so fast that his neck hurt. 

“What?”

The woman, an agent Napoleon didn’t even recognize looked at him confusedly.  “I thought that man had told you, you’re free to go now.”

Napoleon watched dumbly as the woman produced a key and unlocked the door. After a moment of hesitation, he stumbled free of cell, in time to see Gaby step out of hers. 

She took one look at him before grabbing him by the shoulders.  She only said one word, but it was enough to shake him back to the present. 

“ _Waverly_.”

\-- -- --

“ _Sie Hurensohn!_ What the hell did you do?”

Waverly didn’t even look up as Gaby stormed up to his desk, planting both her hands on the surface so forcefully that the entire thing shook.  Napoleon was only a step behind her.  For a second the only sound in the room was their heavy breaths from running all the way up here. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, like he couldn’t even bear looking at them, Waverly finally whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The two simple words hit Napoleon like a punch to the gut. 

 _How could he have been so naïve?_   For a moment, swept up in the excitement of seeing Illya again, Napoleon had let himself think that Illya was safe.  Now all of it, every mistake, was glaring back at him.  

Running around the desk, Gaby walked up to Waverly, dragging him right out of his chair.  “Where is he?”

Waverly sagged in her grip, “I don’t know.”

Gaby’s stare burned into him a moment longer before she let him go with a disgusted noise and turning to Napoleon. 

She marched up to him, she jabbed a finger in his chest.  “If you don’t tell me exactly what all this is about right now Napoleon, I swear to god, I will kill you.”

“It’s all my fault.”

Gaby huffed at him angrily, “ _Napoleon_ , I know for a fact that you would never do anything that would hurt him.”

“But I _did_ ,” Napoleon had screwed up, had broken his promise, “All of this, everything, happened because I couldn’t do the one thing I’m good at.”

“It was out of your control,” Gaby put her hands on Napoleon’s arms, forcing him to look at her, “and it’s all now in the _past_.  We need to focus on the present, on finding Illya and getting him back.”  She was becoming desperate, practically shaking him, “I can’t help you do that if I don’t know what the hell this whole thing has been about.”

“I can’t-” Napoleon started.

“She deserves to know.”

They both turned to Waverly, who was looking right at them. 

A calm sense of direction finally came to Napoleon for the first time since he had realized, standing in his cell, what had happened. 

He stepped away from Gaby, strolling up to Waverly and leaning down into his space.  “I told _you_ and look what happened.” he practically growled.

“There was nothing I could do,” Waverly looked up at him sadly, “They already knew.”

Napoleon stepped back, shocked.

Before Waverly could even finish his next word, Gaby stomped her foot and drew their attention back to her. 

“They already knew about _what_?” She looked at Napoleon angrily, “I’m getting really tired of being the only one out of the loop here.  You do realize you’re not the only one that loves him, right?  Just because you’ve been sleeping with hi-”

She froze. 

Already reeling, Napoleon stared at her.  Eyes wide, she put a hand over her mouth. 

“Napoleon, I-” Gaby fumbled for words, “I didn’t mean-” Shaking her head, she started to reach towards him, but he flinched back. 

“What exactly did you mean?”  

“I’m upset Napoleon, I-”

“You don’t think _I’m_ upset?” He turned to her, unable to contain himself, “I just had to watch Illya get dragged away because of my mistakes! Now you try to use the fact that I care against me, while degrading our relationship to ‘sleeping together!’  I expected you, more than anyone, to understand.”

He turned away, looking anywhere but at her.  He had always accepted that if someone found out there would be hell to pay, but he never expected it to go down like this. 

“You don’t understand!  I didn’t want to hurt you, I just wanted to be heard!” she said desperately, before calming herself down to say what she really wanted to, “It doesn’t bother me.”

He looked over at her. 

“In fact I’m happy for you.” Gaby tried to give him a smile, but it crumbled when he barely responded, “Napoleon, I care about you, both of you, more than you probably realize.  I was rooting for you guys before either of you figured out what you were feeling.  It was a stupid thing to say, I stepped over the line and I already regret it.  I’m just tired of being kept in the dark.”

“In fact I’m just damn tired. And scared as hell too, and I deserve to know what’s going on.  We’re a team,” She walked up to him carefully, making sure to still give him space, “and in order to save Illya, we need to work together.  That’s impossible if you can’t even tell me what this is about.”

He still stared at her.  “How did you figure it out?”

Gaby let out a choked, miserable laugh, “It was as obvious as if you had told me.  I just know both of you too well.”

“Napoleon, please, you don’t even have to forgive me,” Tears started to form at the corners of her eyes, but she tried to blink them back, “I can’t lose you too.”

She was beginning to tremble.  It reminded Napoleon of the time, in Japan, when she had fallen into the icy water.  By the time they were able to get her out, she was shivering so bad that she could barely talk.  Napoleon had wrapped her in his arms in the back of their car, while Illya broke every speed limit possible to get them back to the safe-house.

It had scared him then, when her lips had turned blue, and it scared him now as she desperately fought back tears. 

Something inside of him collapsed. 

“I don’t want to lose you either.”

She almost choked again, gasping as he stepped back into her space.  Shuddering sobs finally found their way to the surface as she pressed her face into Napoleon’s neck.  “I’m so sorry.” she managed to say. 

“I know.”  He smoothed down her hair.  Over the years, he had probably said more stupid, hurtful things that she had in her whole life.

Napoleon’s gaze moved over her shoulder to Waverly.

Looking up at them, he sighed.  “After everything, do you really think that this is a big deal to me?”

Letting out a breath, Napoleon looked back down. 

“Okay,” he said, pulling Gaby away slightly so that he could look her in the face, “You may want to sit down for this.”

\-- -- --

“Do you have everything?”

Glancing at his bag on the table, Napoleon did one more check.

“Yeah.”

Across from him, Gaby finished loading her gun and slipped it into the holster at her side.  Watching her for a moment, Napoleon could see that her hand was shaking slightly.  They had run countless missions together at this point, and it had been a long time since he had seen her so nervous. 

But then again, it had been a long time since there was this much at stake. 

Gaby had taken in the information about Illya surprisingly well.  After listening to Napoleon, she only asked a few questions, and then almost immediately turned to Waverly. 

Waverly then explained that Dr. Stryker Partridge was a high ranking scientist who had the means and support to take down UNCLE for good.  It had been him that spread the information about the new technology and possible mole, setting this whole thing in motion. 

He had come to Waverly right after the break in, using it as added pressure.  Threatening to discredit the entire organization and everyone in it, his only demand was Illya. 

“You mean that he was going to come after him, even if I hadn’t thrown the alarm?” Napoleon had asked. 

“Yes,” Waverly continued, “He knew exactly who Illya was; had tracked him down starting with the KGB.  At the time, he said that it was only for some small procedures that he wouldn’t normally volunteer for, but it’s obvious that this is all much more sinister than I had let myself believe.”

With no other option available and multiple governments already breathing down his neck, Waverly had been forced to give him up, with one condition. 

“I made sure you could both see him before he was taken away,” Shaking his head, Waverly voice was quiet and heavy with guilt, “But I had no idea that was how they were going do it.”

After a week of searching they had found a paper trail that led from Partridge to his base, an abandoned military installation in France.  In a different situation, Napoleon probably would have thought it was funny how cliché it was. 

Now, after a further few days of preparation, he and Gaby were finally going to infiltrate the place and get Illya back. 

Napoleon’s heart raced with the idea of seeing him again, even though, in a darker part of his mind—no matter how hard he tried to avoid them—the thoughts of what condition Illya would be in when they found him festered.  Each night, unable to sleep, his imagination would run through every terrible scenario. 

Pushing away the images of Illya, broken and bloody, Napoleon grabbed his bag and looked at Gaby. 

“Let’s go.”

\-- -- --

The base was easy-enough to get into, especially for someone with Napoleon’s skill set; the real problem was the size of the place.  After slipping in through a roof-top access panel, they had to run through a seemingly endless string of hallways, just to reach the area where they _thought_ Illya may be held. 

For all they knew, he could be on the other side of the building, an idea that had been eating at Napoleon all day. 

Spy work was all about information, and they had precious little about this place and the man that ran it.  The old blue-prints from the war that they were working off of were almost definitely out of date, and the official accounts of Dr. Partridge only gave the briefest look into who he was or what he wanted. 

Yet they still moved forward, as if they had any idea what to expect around the next corner. 

Gaby took the lead, with Napoleon covering their backs, as they moved in a tight formation. 

They stopped at a corner, when something caught Gaby’s eye.  She gestured to Napoleon, pointing towards a room across from them, with the French word for “Laboratory” across the doors. 

Napoleon swallowed.  There was a high probability that Illya was being kept in there. 

Seeing his hesitation, Gaby surged forward, carefully opening the door so that she wouldn’t be surprised by anyone on the other side.  Admonishing himself for the lapse, the latest in his long line of recent mistakes, Napoleon quickly followed her.  He was off his game without Illya. 

As soon as they stepped in the room, they were hit with the overpowering smell of chemicals.  The air was also very cold, only adding to the antiseptic feel of the space. 

Napoleon’s eyes quickly swept the room.  There were rows of large metal tables, a wall of cold-storage chambers, a multitude of scientific machines, but no sign of Illya. 

Stepping forward, Gaby walked slowly through the rows of tables, and Napoleon knew she was thinking about what went on in this room. 

He glanced around again, his gaze lingering on rows of steel doors built into the wall.  There were bodies behind those doors, maybe even Illya’s. 

An icy chill set into Napoleon’s bones that had nothing to do with the cold air. 

He started making his way across the room, and couldn’t help but notice the drains built into the floor.  Between living through the war and his current line of work, Napoleon had seen first-hand what those drains were for.  He barely held back a shudder at the memory. 

Both Napoleon and Gaby reached the back wall at the same time. 

Reaching for the nearest door, Napoleon’s hand closed around the chilling metal handle.  Before he could let himself think about it anymore, he pulled the door open.  He let out a breath.  It was empty. 

Gaby pulled open another.  She inhaled sharply at the sight of the woman laid out in front of her.  “Napoleon-”

“Keep going.” he said, pushing the body back into her metal coffin, “There’s nothing we can do for them now.”

Nodding, even as her chin trembled, Gaby turned back to the next door.  Glancing at her for a moment, Napoleon could see rigid determination in every line of her body.  She was forcing herself to keep it together; to not lose sight of the mission. 

Part of him hated himself for having a hand in that; for teaching her how to shut herself off.  But, it was the only way to live this life and survive, and he wasn’t sure where any of them would be without her. 

They continued systematically looking through all the compartments, finding no sign of Illya.  Napoleon pulled open the next door and was shocked to see a body with blue skin. 

“Napoleon?” Gaby tentatively asked off to his side.  Napoleon forcibly pulled his gaze away from the body in front of him to look over at her. 

In front of her was just as incredible a sight.  The man on the slab had _wings_. 

“Do you think-” Gaby said, as she stared wide-eyed at the body, “Do you think whatever made this man-” She struggled to describe what she was seeing, “Like _this_ , is the same thing that effected Illya?”

Throwing caution to the wind, Napoleon, without even answering, began pulling open every door.  There was a woman with webbed feet and another with red eyes and scaly skin.  There were even more people, who all seemed to look normal enough, but Napoleon knew better than that. 

All of them were different.  All of them were like Illya. 

“It all has to be connected.” he finally said, staring at the array of life lying before them. 

“That must be how Partridge knew about Illya,” Gaby said, looking up at him, “He’s studying them.”

Napoleon shook his head.  “He’s _using_ them.  For what I don’t know, but we have to get Illya out of here as soon as possible,” he sadly looked over all the lives that had been ended prematurely, all because of that madman, “Before he ends up like this.”

They left the room, with both a new sense of conviction and a growing sense of dread.  Whatever was going on here was even more sinister than they had thought. 

“Down here,” Gaby whispered, nodding down the next hallway.  They passed through the hall quickly, making it to a stairwell.  Just before they opened the door, there was a sound on the other side.  They both dove out of the way and around a corner. 

Taking small, shallow breaths, they crouched, guns poised, as a two people walked out of the stairwell. 

“-is really remarkable,” the first one was saying.

“I know,” the second one responded, their footsteps echoing down the tile halls as they moved further away from Gaby and Napoleon’s hiding place, “Though he is hard to contain, which is a pity.  That temper of his will only lead to trouble, and he’s too strong for most of us to handle alone.”

Napoleon and Gaby shared a look, an unspoken understanding going between them. 

“We’ll soon train that out of him.” the first person said.  It was the last thing Gaby and Napoleon heard before the two turned a corner and their voices became nothing but echoing murmurers. 

Napoleon painfully unclenched his teeth.  “If we come across anyone else in this place, I swear to god I’m going to-”

“There will be plenty of time for that later,” Gaby grabbed his arm and forcibly dragged him back towards the stairs, “We can’t risk raising the alarm yet.”

Napoleon huffed, tightening the grip on his gun.  “ _Yet_.”

They went up a couple levels, eventually stepping back into the maze of halls.  Turning a corner, Gaby stopped short, causing Napoleon to almost bump into her. 

He looked at what had surprised her. 

In front of them was a door.  Through the pane of safety-glass set into it, he could see what looked strikingly like a prison.  There were multiple stories of cells in a dark rectangular room.  He couldn’t see how many of the cells had people in them, but it was obvious that the room was in use.  Guards circled around the walkway and the floor. 

“He’s in there,” Gaby said, her voice full of conviction. 

“How do you know?”

“Because he has to be,” she turned to look Napoleon in the eyes, “When we bust into there, it’s going to draw the attention of too many people.  If he’s not in there, we might not be able to find him in time.”

There was a steel in her eyes, something Napoleon had learned to trust.  He nodded.  “Okay.  What’s the plan?”

Gaby laid out her strategy of action, paying close attention to the guards and how they rotated around the room. 

Waiting for just the right moment, they crouched, poised at the door. 

“Ready?” Gaby whispered. 

“Ready.”

Bursting into action, they used the shock of their entrance to take down most of the guards before they even managed to register what happened.  Their bodies fell to the floor with ugly smacks, as more gunshots began to ring out across the room. 

Gaby rolled to the side, while Napoleon sprinted towards the nearest cover, a set of thin metal stairs leading to the next level of cells. 

The prisoners were awake now, and terrified. 

A few shouted in fear, but most silently moved themselves as far away from the door as they could. 

Napoleon left his cover, taking down another guard with a squeeze of the trigger. 

Gaby took down another two who had tried to run at her, knocking them both out. 

Using the distraction that she caused, Napoleon managed to hit the final guard, who keeled over in pain, clutching at this shoulder.

“Illya!” Gaby called, already running along the cells trying to find him.  They knew that they had very little time now. 

Napoleon stood up too, instantly taking in the space and working out multiple escape routes.  He calculated how much time they would need to get out. 

A screeching alarm began to sound across the building. 

“Illya!” he yelled, already counting down in his head. 

He ran past cell after cell.  Some were empty, but some had people, terrified people, in them.  Napoleon forced himself to keep going.  They didn’t have enough time or resources to help them all now.  It would be a wonder if they could even get themselves out. 

But he knew their faces would join the countless others, the ones that kept him up at night.

“Illya!” The name echoed through the hard, concrete and metal space, repeating over and over as Gaby and Napoleon searched.  The endlessly repeating name began to distort as the alarm grew louder and their shouts became more desperate. 

Then it all came to a grinding halt. 

“Illya?”

He was lying on a flimsy cot curled up facing the wall, but Napoleon could recognize him anywhere.   Grabbing the bars in front of him, Napoleon’s voice was barely a whisper, his throat suddenly very dry, “Peril?”

Illya moved. 

It was more of a shudder than an actual movement, but it was enough.

Illya was _alive._   He was here, right in front of Napoleon, and he was _still breathing._  

“Is it him?” Gaby breathlessly asked as she came rushing up behind Napoleon.  She took one look into the cell and instantly fell silent. 

Napoleon jabbed his lock picks into the lock.  Ignoring the loud clang as the door banged against the wall, he rushed into the tiny space, followed closely by Gaby. 

“ _Illya_ ,” Napoleon was at his side in seconds.  He hesitated then, unsure of how Illya would react to being touched.  “Are you okay?”

Illya flinched, curling in on himself even more.  He murmured something under his breath. 

“Illya?” Gaby asked, moving in to put a hand on his arm, “We have to get out of here Illya, we don’t have much time.”

“ _You are not real_.”

Napoleon’s heart stopped. 

The words were gritted out through clenched teeth, as Illya pressed both his hands to his temples.  “You are not real,” he repeated to himself again, “You were _never_ real.”

Napoleon grabbed Illya, pulling him up so that he could look him in the face.  Illya tried to thrash back against him, but Napoleon had been expecting that.  Holding him still until he gave in and stopped resisting, Napoleon looked him over.  He was shocked by what he saw. 

Illya was much paler than normal, and his hair was mostly shaved away and dirty.  Every line of his face was tired and there were deep purple bags under his eyes.  His hands looked like he had been punching something rough, probably the cell walls.  There were other bruises and signs of struggle too. 

Now it looked like he had given up; limply sitting in Napoleon’s grasp. 

“<What is it this time sergeant?>” He gurgled out in Russian, “<Another test?>”

“Stop,” Napoleon couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t take the sight of Illya so broken, “Illya it’s _me.”_

Illya’s face darkened.  “<Napoleon was not real>.” 

Gaby sat down next to Illya, taking his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her, “We are real, and we’re here to get you out of here.”

Illya’s eyes began to water, “I miss you Gaby,” he whispered, reaching out to touch her face, “I wish-” He faltered, blinking. 

“Gaby?” his voice cracked, his face beginning to crumble. 

Napoleon reached up, placing a hand on Illya’s chest, as his own heart threatened to break at the scene before him.  “We’re here.”

Illya moved slowly, first looking down at the hand planted on his chest; he brought his own hand up to cover it.  His eyes flashed up, looking right into Napoleon’s. 

The devastating hope in that look tore into Napoleon.  He nodded.  “<It’s me, my love>.” he managed to say, his Russian very rough as he struggled to keep his composure. 

Illya brought both his hands up to Napoleon’s face, hesitating for a moment.  The pads of his fingers barely brushed Napoleon’s skin. 

He made a small noise before curling his fingers into the hair at the base of Napoleon’s neck.  Illya fell to the floor, practically landing on top of Napoleon as he pulled himself closer to the other man. 

Napoleon’s wrapped his arms around Illya, who shuddered in his embrace.  The Russian latched onto him, as if he might disappear at any moment, and buried his face in Napoleon’s neck. 

Now Gaby reached out too, wrapping herself around both of them.  Something that had been missing in Napoleon for days fit back into place.  For one blissful moment they were all together again. 

It was shattered a second later as a gunshot rang across the cell-block.  Illya jumped a little at the sound, the small movement scaring Napoleon more than the threat of being caught.  Illya had always been so steady, so impossible to break. 

“Find them!” Someone shouted. 

An enterprising man from one cell over yelled back, “They’re over here!”

Napoleon resisted the urge to shoot the other man, grabbing Illya and helping him to his feet.  He was able to walk, but just barely.  After a week of whatever they did in this place, he was weak. 

Gaby helped get Illya off the floor, and then ran ahead, firing off multiply shots from the door of the cell.  She managed to hit someone who shouted out in pain.  “We don’t have any cover,” She said, glancing back at them with a desperate look, “There’s no way we can get out of here.”

Going over the multitude of plans he had crafted earlier, Napoleon knew they couldn’t reach any of the exits from here.  He shook his head, frustrated.  They had only just got Illya back; he was not going to lose him again. 

“There is one way.”

Illya voice was rough, but it still broke through Napoleon’s frustration like a knife. 

“No.”

Gaby looked back towards them again.

“I’m not putting you in danger,” Napoleon looked into Illya eyes, “Not now.”

“If you do not let me do this, we are all going to die anyway.” Illya’s gaze had just a sliver of the fiery stubbornness that Napoleon loved, but it was enough.  He knew he had already lost. 

“Don’t you dare go and die on me.”

Illya’s smile was watery and weak, but it was still there.  “I would never give you the satisfaction.”

“Can you maybe explain this escape plan you both seem to already understand?

Turning to Gaby, fear flashed across Illya’s face.  Napoleon ducked his head, realizing. 

“I know,” she said, instantly recognizing Illya’s thoughts, as she always seemed to do, “About everything.” 

Illya’s eyes widened, looking between the both of them for a second.  “You-”

“I am so sorry,” Napoleon urged.  If he wasn’t already holding Illya up, Napoleon would have gone to him now, as he revealed all that he had been forced to say, “I didn’t want to, but there wasn’t any other way.”

“We don’t have time for this right now,” Gaby pulled out an extra magazine and reloaded her gun, “We can all have a good talk about the things we regret from the past few weeks, as soon as we get out of here.”

If Illya wasn’t so battered, Napoleon knew he would have fought to get his two-cents in.  Instead, he nodded, his brow furrowed as he began to focus his energy on changing. 

Napoleon stepped away from Illya, staying close enough to catch him if he was too weak, and watched as Illya began to shift.  It was not a smooth as it normally was, Illya’s beaten body not wanting to make the effort, but there soon stood a huge wolf in the center of the cell. 

“Woah.” Wide-eyed, Gaby stared at Illya, “That’s- You-”she faltered for words, as Illya stood frozen in his spot.  When she finally got an entire phrase arranged, her voice still wavered slightly, but it was obvious in her tone that she was okay.  She even managed to smile a little.  “That’s certainly something.” 

Another gunshot whizzed past her, startling everyone back to focus.  Illya took a step forward, limping a little.  “Are you sure about this?”  Napoleon asked, kneeling down to look him in the eyes. 

Illya nodded. 

“Okay.” Napoleon said, placing a hand on his shoulder.  “Okay,” He said again, pulling out his gun and turning towards the door, “We’ll cover you.”

Making his way over to where Gaby was crouched, Illya looked around for a moment, sniffing the air.  Gaby continued to stare. 

Finally, Illya glanced back at Napoleon, who nodded. 

Gaby laid down some cover fire, allowing Illya to move in.  Napoleon watched and waited, keeping a close eye on Illya.  Gaby stopped firing, pulling her gun away and checking the magazine. 

“I’m out.” She said, her voice betraying her fear. 

“It’s okay,” Napoleon said, never losing his sight of Illya, “He’s got this now.”

The people who had them pinned, started to check over the top of their cover, making sure the firing had stopped. 

A sudden, piercing shout rang out. 

Gaby gasped, and Napoleon put a hand on her shoulder.  “You don’t need to see this.”

She shook her head, unable to tear her eyes away as Illya began to tear through the guards.  Just like the first time Napoleon had seen him in action like this, it was brutal. 

In what seemed like no time at all, it was only Illya left, standing surrounded by downed guards. 

They ran out from the cell, quickly making their way up to where Illya was waiting, breathing hard. 

They prepare to move out.  Napoleon checked on Illya, crouching down to his level and making sure that he was still doing okay.  Meanwhile, Gaby holstered her now useless gun and pulled out the knife Napoleon had taught her how to use. 

Without saying so much as a word, they moved into the hall, already in synch again. 

They reached the stairs without coming across any more guards, but the alarm still rang in their ears.  Napoleon went to pull the door open, find it locked.  He cursed under his breath and turned to head down the next hall. 

They found more locked stairs, and a handful of halls that had been blocked off with heavy blast doors none of them could move. 

“He’s doing this on purpose,” Gaby said as they had to turn around at another dead end, “He’s forcing us to go exactly where he wants.”

“And I have a really bad feeling about where that is.” Napoleon said, glancing down at Illya, still in wolf form.  When he was hurt, it was sometimes easier to just stay like that till they got to safety. 

Finally finding an open door, Napoleon shoved it open, letting Gaby take the lead, with Illya between them using his heightened senses to keep an eye out for guards. 

They moved quickly down the flights of stairs, reaching the door to the level they needed.  Napoleon stared at it for a second, and then looked questionably at Illya, who nodded.  “He says it’s clear.” 

Gaby pulled it open, while Napoleon covered her, and soon they were all standing in the next concrete hall.  After finding his bearings, Napoleon surged ahead, but was stopped in his tracks but a single sentence. 

“Isn’t that cute.” 

Napoleon whipped around, finding the barrel of his gun pointed at the very man he had been thinking about killing all night. 

Dr. Partridge was flanked on both sides by thugs with raised weapons, filling the entire space with their menacing presence. 

Waving a hand, a pair of guards moved ahead of Partridge, searched them, and took their weapons.  Gaby cursed in German as they found her other knife in her boot. 

“Now, Miss Teller, I don’t know if I appreciate that type of language,” Partridge said, cleaning his glasses with the corner of her shirt, “Though I can understand that this is probably a stressful time for you.” 

“I’m going to kill you.”  Gaby hissed out. 

“Oh I don’t know about that,” he replied, unfazed, “It may be difficult to kill me after I’ve already killed you.”  He put out his hand and one of the guards handed him a gun.  He looked it over as one might admire a particularly abstract painting. 

“I’ve never been one for guns,” he said, turning the piece over in his palm, “It makes everything too easy; takes the fun out of it.”

“Will you just get on with whatever you’re going to do?”  Napoleon spoke up for the first time, his entire body tense, “I’m getting tired of your monologue.”

Partridge raised an eyebrow at him, looking him over judgingly, “You’re wish is my command.”  Turning to Illya, he waved his hand with a flourish.  “Take it away Mr. Kuryakin.”

Napoleon risked a glance away from the enemy to look at Illya.  Gaby also tensed, confused. 

Illya just growled, taking a step back from Partridge, who still seemed so sure of what he was doing, even as nothing happened.  It made the hairs on the back of Napoleon’s neck stand on end.  Something was not right. 

Without so much as moving, Partridge seemed to be taking command of the room, as they all stood around expectantly waiting for his next move.  His lips transformed into a twisted smile, and he opened his mouth, uttering a simple phrase with the finality of a death sentence. 

“ _If necessary_.” 

As soon as the words left Partridges mouth, Illya went silent. 

Napoleon blinked, a sinister feeling, something very near fear, starting to creep into his gut.  His gaze slowly slid over to see Illya, standing stock-still.  As Napoleon watched, Illya’s head turned towards him.  Napoleon’s blood froze. 

With glazed eyes, Illya let out a low growl, a threatening rumble from deep in his chest.  He bared his teeth. 

For the first time since they had started working together, Napoleon was scared of Illya.  His fingers twitched, looking for a weapon that he didn’t have and didn’t want. 

He couldn’t hurt Illya. 

He’d rather die. 

“Napoleon-” Gaby started to say something, but was silence when someone came up behind her, putting a hand over her mouth. 

“Don’t worry Miss, you’ll be next.” Partridge grinned. 

Napoleon watched, his horror growing, as she was pulled off to the side, struggling against the guard.  He looked back down, taking a step back as Illya continued to advance slowly towards him. 

“What did you do to him?”  Napoleon asked, his eyes never leaving Illya’s.  No response came from the other side of the hall, just a vile, expectant silence. 

A cement wall painfully greeted Napoleon’s back, and he found himself trapped. 

“Illya,” Napoleon started, crouching down and putting out his hands, “It’s _me_.” 

His words did nothing to stop Illya’s measured advance as it continued to eat up the distance between them.

“It’s me, _Napoleon_ -” his words became more frantic as he saw Illya’s muscles tense, “Illya, please!-”

He dove out of the way as Illya pounced at him, snarling. 

Landing painfully on his side, Napoleon scrambled up in time to see Illya shaking himself off from hitting the wall. 

“They’re controlling you somehow,” he said, before diving out of the way from the next attack, “You don’t have to do this!” 

Illya moved faster than Napoleon on most days, but in this form he was nearly impossible to keep up with.  Napoleon could feel his breath starting to grow ragged, as he desperate tried to keep distance between him and Illya. 

He needed to find a way out of this and fast. 

Narrowly avoiding another attack, Napoleon rolled to his side, scrapping his face on the unforgiving cement. 

The blood started to drip down his face, getting in his eyes.  But from where he was now crouching, he could see the other group. 

Partridge was observing him like a mouse in a maze.  But it was Gaby, whose eyes were filled with horror as she was forced to watch, which made him falter.  It was only a second, but it cost him. 

Illya hit Napoleon from the side with enough force to push him down and knock the breath out of him.  The hit jarred him back to the present, and he scrambled to push Illya away.   But Napoleon’s hands did nothing against the solid muscle weighing painfully on his chest. 

Without a second of hesitation, Illya went in for a killing strike.  Napoleon was only able to wriggle aside enough for Illya to miss his neck, his teeth digging into Napoleon’s shoulder instead. 

He cried out at the sudden and incredible pain, but he didn’t have much time to process it before Illya reared back and prepared to strike again. 

“Illya-” Napoleon’s voice was a broken, terrified, whimper.  It was obvious Illya was going to kill him; he was helpless to stop it.  He’d rather die than fight back.  His own petty life was meaningless if he had to hurt Illya now, after everything. 

Even as he closed his eyes, preparing himself for whatever came next, he thought of Illya, of the pain this would cause him. 

Even in his death Napoleon was still hurting the people he loved. _Of course._

Something about this acceptance, or maybe his whimpering voice, made Illya hesitate for the briefest of moments.  Napoleon eyes shot open, and a sudden wave of hope blossoming in him. 

“Please-” he desperately stared into Illya’s eyes, trying to convey as much as he could, “I love you.” 

Something changed in Illya’s eyes.  There was a shift, barely noticeable unless you were staring into them as Napoleon was.  They suddenly changed into something more recognizable, becoming the eyes that Napoleon had stared into so many times. 

After a split second, Illya shifted again, imperceptibly moving his weight off of Napoleon’s chest, while at the same time letting out a threatening growl. 

He lunged forward, his teeth just grazing Napoleon’s neck and violently smearing the blood from his injured shoulder all over. 

Napoleon, once he realized what Illya was attempting to do, followed along with the act.  He cried out and clawed at Illya’s sides, trying to make it seem like he was in as much pain as possible.

Behind him, Gaby screamed. 

He went limp, cutting his breathing to a minimum and playing dead.   Illya took the cue and stepped away, panting and covered in Napoleon’s blood. 

“Wonderful!” Partridge said, clapping his hands gleefully, “The conditioning seems to be working nearly perfectly, even though we had so little time.” 

From his spot on the floor, Napoleon could only see the ceiling and part of Illya, but he could hear Partridge scribbling something down. 

“We’re going to have to look into that hesitation glitch though.” he said, before his shoes shuffled around.  “But that’s of course after he kills you.” 

There was a sticky wet noise, followed by an exclamation.  Gaby had spit in his face.  Partridge began to form a reply to this, when Illya suddenly moved. 

He was out of Napoleon’s line of sight in an instant, followed by the sound of Partridge being hit.  There was a great confusion among the guards, none of whom could get a clear shot at Illya that wouldn’t hit their boss. 

Napoleon used the confusion to leap up, grabbing the closest gun he could get his hands on. 

Bullets began to fly, and Gaby took her cue, throwing her head back to break the nose of the man holding her.  She grabbed his gun and joined Napoleon. 

“What’s the plan?” She yelled over the deafening sound of heavy gun fire in such a small space. 

“Get the hell out of here!” Napoleon yelled back.  He caught sight of Illya, struggling to get away from the body of Dr. Partridge. 

Throwing himself into the fray, Napoleon knocked down multiple men before managing to grab Illya and physically pull him towards Gaby.  She turned to run with them as Napoleon and Illya sprinted towards her. 

Napoleon’s shoulder was a mess, and he was forced to drop Illya, letting out a gasp of pain, his damaged muscles screamed at him.  Illya landed heavily on the floor but picked himself up as fast as he could and began running beside them. 

The guards followed, knowing no better than to continue following the orders of a dead man. 

Napoleon ran with no idea of where they were going, the bullets forcing them to keep going at an impossible pace. 

After what seemed like miles, Napoleon saw it. 

Gaby threw her shoulder into the door and it flew open, leaving her stumbling.  She barely caught herself from falling and kept running into the open air, with Illya right behind her.  

Napoleon followed, slamming the door shit behind him and using a discarded pipe from nearby to secure it.  It would only slow the guards down, but at this point, any extra time was a blessing. 

Waverly was supposed to be around with the helicopter, but he was nowhere to be seen yet.  In the distance, across the open concrete expanse, he could see the tree line; their best bet for cover. 

Illya was beginning to lag behind Gaby.  Skidding to a stop, she tried to pick him up, but he was practically the same size as her.  She yelled out at the exertion and tried to keep moving, but it was too much.  Illya landed back onto the cement as Napoleon caught up to them. 

“We have to keep moving.” Napoleon managed to say between painful gulps of air.

Gaby nodded, and began to say something when the door behind them violently shuddered.  The pipe Napoleon had stuck between the handles held, but just barely. 

Illya turned and started running again, soon followed by Napoleon and Gaby.  The guards continued to bang against the door, the ominous clang ringing across the open space. 

Risking a look over his shoulder, Napoleon watched, almost in slow motion, as the door finally gave, and a hoard of guards came spilling out, like so many ants to a scrap of food.  The guards trained their rifles on them, and Napoleon knew that they wouldn’t make it to the trees. 

He looked forward, at Gaby and Illya, as they ran. 

In the open like this, none of them stood a chance.  Using the last of his energy, he surged forwards and pulled both of his friends down. 

Napoleon squeezed his eyes shut.  Bullets whizzed past, right above his head.  His ears rang and his head pounded. 

He tightened his grip on his friends, pulling them under him.  Maybe he could save them enough time for Waverly to get here. 

The pounding in his head grew louder, almost overwhelming him.  Then, through the fog of it, someone shouted his name.

Napoleon looked up. 

The pounding hadn’t been in his head.  It had been the deafening sound of the approaching helicopter.  Waverly was now hoping out and running to them, hauling him up.  Napoleon stumbled, all the events of the night sending pain coursing through his body. 

Waverly grabbed his arm, steadying him, and then took Gaby’s and pulled her after him towards the helicopter.  Illya leapt in through the open door and scrambled for purchase, his claws slipping on the metal floor. 

More bullets whizzed past, many making a metallic sound as they hit the side of the helicopter, but Napoleon didn’t look back. 

Waverly rushed to the pilot’s seat, desperately pulling up.  As they lurched into the air, Napoleon nearly fell.  Gaby grabbed him, pulling him to sit beside her.  She latched onto his shirt, pulling Illya closer with her other hand. 

Bullets pinged against the bottom of the helicopter, a few hurtling past them. 

“Hang on!” Waverly shouted back, before violently turning the whole machine. 

The helicopter swung around and sped over the buildings.  Waverly stayed low, so that he could get out of the gunmen’s sight faster, but it meant he had to avoid hitting the poles and wires that spread across the roof. 

Napoleon grabbed a strap near him, managing to keep a hold on it as he was thrown around.  Next to him, Gaby closed her eyes and curled protectively over Illya. 

Finally they burst into the clear, heading out over the trees and leaving the dark, squat buildings behind them. 

Waverly sagged back into his seat. 

Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, Napoleon let out a breath.   _Holy shit._  

He opened his eyes.  Gaby was breathing heavily next to him, looking exhaustedly at nothing. Having finally changed back, Illya was lying across the floor on his back. 

“Illya-” Napoleon didn’t even know what he was going to say, but he was still cut off by a wave of pain from his shoulder.  He winced, his breath hissing through clenched teeth.  The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and his injuries were calling for attention. 

Saying something that Napoleon couldn’t hear over the engine, Illya pulled himself up and over to Napoleon.  He gingerly wrapped his arms around Napoleon, and curled into him.  Napoleon, too tired and hurting to form a sentence, just rested his head on top of Illya’s, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

Finally pulling herself together, Gaby looked wearily over at Napoleon.  He drew her closer with his good arm, and she laid her head on his chest. 

Illya’s breath tickled against Napoleon’s neck.  Rain began to patter on the metal hull around them.    

Waverly flipped a few switches and steered them towards home. 

\-- -- --

The distant sounds of traffic filtered into his consciousness first.  Shifting slightly, Napoleon blinked awake slowly, taking in the comfort of being in his own bed for the first time in weeks.

A warm breeze rustled the curtains, letting in some soft, mid-morning light.  Next to him, Illya made a quiet noise and curled in closer to him.  

“Good morning.” Napoleon said quietly, running his fingers through Illya’s hair.  It was still shorter than usual, which Illya took every opportunity to complain about, but it was growing back. 

Humming, Illya took a deep breath and stretched.  “Why does it have to be morning?”

Napoleon chuckled, “That’s just the way it works.” 

“It may be morning, but we do not have to get up, yes?” Heavily laying his arm across Napoleon chest so that he couldn’t move, Illya smirked, his eyes still closed against the light. 

“Yes.” Napoleon said, rolling over a little so that he could be closer to Illya’s warmth.  The movement put more weight on his shoulder and pain shot through his arm.  He winced and moved back onto his back. 

Illya opened his eyes and moved up onto his elbow.  Carefully leaning over Napoleon, he asked, “Are you okay?”

Nodding, Napoleon waved away his concern.  “Just rolled onto it a little, it’s not that bad.”  The doctors had given him some pain medication after the surgery, but it still ached dully most of the time.  Putting accidental weight or stress on it was another thing. 

Looking away, Illya quietly fidgeted with the blankets.  Napoleon knew exactly what he was going to say next. 

“I am sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”  Napoleon said, for the millionth time.  Illya gave him a look. 

“You were under Partridge’s control and had no idea what you were doing.” Napoleon insisted, bringing his hand to Illya’s cheek.  “We’ve been over this, you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I nearly took your life Napoleon.” Illya pulled away from the touch, every inch of him etched with guilt.

“You didn’t.” 

“I almost cost you your arm instead.” 

Napoleon had been expecting that one.  The doctors had explained, once he was out of surgery, that it was a wonder he could still use his arm.  Illya wouldn’t look at him after that until Gaby cornered him. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Napoleon knew his words weren’t working; Illya had been chewing himself up over this since they got back, “And so are you.” 

An UNCLE doctor had looked Illya over, watched closely by Gaby and Waverly the entire time, and had assured them that the conditioning was not permanent.  It would take a while for him to heal from what he had been through, but he was healthy at least. 

“That does not matter.” 

Napoleon sighed, “It does matter.  When we first found you, and you still thought we were all a dream, it broke my heart.” 

Illya had explained afterwards that they had knocked him out to get him to the base.  When he had woken up they had acted like he was still in the KGB, like he had never left and that everything else had been a fantasy he created in an attempt to keep his sanity. 

 “I care about you,” Napoleon continued, “and so does Gaby and Waverly.  We all worked to get you out of that place because we love you.  We are not going to abandon you now.” 

Illya looked over at him sadly.  “I’m dangerous.”

“Illya that’s-”

“You should be scared of me, should want to leave.” He turned away, “I do not deserve you.”

Napoleon’s heart lurched. 

He felt something new rear up inside of him.  He moved so that he sitting up, looking directly at Illya.  “You do not get to talk like that to me,” He pointed a finger at him, his voice rising in volume, “I have spent too many nights thinking about how _I_ don’t deserve anyone this good for you to start trying to tear yourself down in front of me.  We’ve both done things we regret, hell, we’ve both _killed_ a lot of people.”

“I love you.”  Napoleon continued, his new conviction, verging on anger, startling Illya to stillness, “and I trust you, and I am not scared of you.”

Illya tried to cut in, but Napoleon plowed on. 

“If we keep going like this, feeling guilty about everything, we’re never going to last and I know that that would hurt you just as much as it would hurt me.”  Napoleon finally paused, deflating now that he had gotten it all off his chest.  “We’re _spies_ Illya, we live dangerous lives by definition, and I’m not willing to give you up just because of something you had no control over.  I care about you too much for that.”

He sat back, vaguely stunned by his own directness, and waited for Illya to respond. 

Blinking, Illya tried to start a sentence a couple times before finally just nodding.  “I love you too.”  He looked almost embarrassed, but there was a smile playing at his lips.  “You are right for once.”

Napoleon raised both his eyebrows at that, “For once?”

Illya tried to hide his smirk, failing miserably.  The silence grew between them and Napoleon leaned in closer.  “So are you going to stop trying to apologize for what happened?”   

Meeting his gaze, Illya replied, “As long as you promise to do the same.”

Napoleon started to reply but Illya cut him off. 

“I know that you blame yourself, but that bastard played all of us.  You did not set these things into motion.  You must understand your own words.” 

Letting out a breath, Napoleon nodded.  “I know.”

Illya looked at him expectantly. 

“I promise.”

“Okay.” 

They were now mere inches apart.  Napoleon could see the grey in Illya’s eyes, as he closed the distance between them.  It was a slow kiss, one that spoke of promises and forgiveness, that captured the fear they had both felt and the reassurance now resting in their hearts. 

When they parted, Illya gently pulled them both back down, and they got comfortable in bed again.  Napoleon rested his head on Illya’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat and interlacing their fingers. 

A comfortable silence drew out between them, both happy to just be near each other. 

“What will happen now?” Illya finally asked.

“I don’t know.” Napoleon said, pausing and looking towards Illya’s face, “What do you want to do next?”

Illya sighed.  “I would like to go back to work.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Napoleon nodded.  It made sense that Illya didn’t want things to change.  They were happy at UNCLE. 

“What about-” Napoleon started, “What about the others?”

“I am glad that I am not alone.” Illya said, biting his lip as he tried to explain his thoughts, “I have thought about it often, but I do not know if I could help them.”

“UNCLE has resources,” Napoleon said quietly, “We could try and find some of them, make sure that they don’t have to go through what you did.”

“That-” Illya looked down at him, “Are you sure you would want to do that?”

“Of course.”

Illya nodded, thinking.  “We could ask Waverly,” The idea obviously growing in his mind, “Try to plan missions that would help them.”  He sat up a little, already planning out the logistics.  Napoleon smiled and joined in. 

Their planning was interrupted a few moments later by a knock at the door. 

Napoleon got up, wrapping a nearby robe around him and carefully opened the door.

He looked through the crack and saw Gaby smiling back at him from behind a new pair of sunglasses. He opened the door all the way and grinned at her. 

“What are you doing up?” Napoleon glanced at the clock, “It’s only ten, I would have thought you were still asleep.”

Gaby smirked at him, and waved her car keys at him.  “We’re going out to eat.”

Napoleon raised an eyebrow at this, “Oh are we now?”

Nodding, Gaby pointed into his apartment, “And Illya’s coming too.” 

“Illya,” Napoleon called towards the bedroom, “We’re going to breakfast with Gaby.”

“It is too late for breakfast, this is brunch.” Illya said, sticking his head out of the bedroom door just to correct them as he pulled a sweater on. 

Gaby gave Napoleon a pointed look, “You should have known that.”

“You two are ganging up on an injured man.” He shook his head with a frown, “I think that’s worse than mistaking a brunch for a breakfast.” 

“Oh shut up,” Gaby shoved him a little good naturedly, “Go get dressed.”

He smiled at her as he made his way back towards the bedroom.  He met Illya, who was stepping into the hall, at the doorway. 

“We should tell her about the plans.” Napoleon said, brushing his fingers against Illya’s as they stood facing each other. 

“Of course.” Illya said. 

“Could you two stop flirting for maybe two seconds please?  I’m going to be eighty by the time we get out of here.” Gaby called from the living room, watching them with a hand on her hips. 

Smirking, Napoleon gave Illya a peck on the cheek just to annoy Gaby, then continued into the bedroom. 

Humming to himself, he pulled out some clothes from his closet. 

A warm breeze fluttered the curtains again. 

Napoleon smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> psyche! it was actually an xmen au all along  
> shout out to anyone who figured it out from "stryker" 
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading! this took me ages and i hope you enjoyed it :)


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